


our beginnings never know our ends

by blondsak



Category: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: AU after Homecoming, Angst with a Happy Ending, Awesome Michelle Jones, BAMF Michelle Jones, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Grief/Mourning, Identity Reveal, Mutual Pining, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter Parker is a Mess, Protective Peter Parker, and peter learning to cope with a new kind of loss, no editing we die like gwen, sorry gwen ilu, there's a plot but I will be honest, this is mostly just about two idiots falling in love, this is what we call GROWTH people
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-05
Updated: 2021-01-05
Packaged: 2021-03-15 10:33:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28562109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blondsak/pseuds/blondsak
Summary: “I should go,” Peter says, hastily shucking on his jacket and wrapping his scarf around his neck. If he’s quick enough, maybe he can catch the thief before he gets away.He’s just about to slide out of the booth when MJ reaches across the scuffed-up formica table and grabs his hand, Peter pausing in his movements to look back at her.“Before you leave, there’s something I wanted to tell you.”Peter raises an eyebrow, the scuffled sounds of the purse-snatching blocks away all but muted into silence when he sees the conflicted look in her eyes. "What is it? Is everything okay?"MJ nods, looking uncertain. “I just wanted to tell you that… that I’m sorry about Gwen.”The hesitant tone in her voice pings something in the back of Peter’s brain, part of him distantly thinking that—while obviously sincere—that hadn’t been what she had wanted to share. But that same thought gets forgotten almost as soon as it floats up, replaced with a far more surreal realization.For the first time in six months, he hadn’t thought of Gwen once all day.
Relationships: Michelle Jones/Peter Parker
Comments: 7
Kudos: 37





	our beginnings never know our ends

**Author's Note:**

  * For [seekrest](https://archiveofourown.org/users/seekrest/gifts).



> Happy barely-early birthday seekrest! I hope this story does justice to that list of deepest fic desires you gave me, with a crap-ton of angst sprinkled on top because of who I am as a person. Oh, who am I kidding—because of who I know YOU are as a person, haha. All the love to you on this most momentous day, my friend <3 <3 <3
> 
> Shout-out to dearest gru for holding my hand and being a fantastic cheerleader as always. If I did my job right, this first chapter will indeed absolutely rip your heart out <3
> 
> Title taken from T.S. Eliot.

Peter’s late.

It’s the story of his life. But even a decade after he first pulled on one of Ben’s old red hoodies and started running around fighting crime, it’s never gotten any easier to deal with the weird looks and side-eyes every time he has to make up increasingly lame excuses for his tardiness. 

This time he couldn’t even pretend to _himself_ that it was because of a thief, or some lost little kid. Patrol the night before had gone extra late when on his way home, he’d come across a stolen car chase that only ended when Peter had used his webs to direct the vehicle toward an empty sidewalk which also happened to contain a fire hydrant. The plan, if you could call it that, had gone sideways in a way he should have seen coming, really—with a geyser of metallic-tasting NYC sewer water bursting upwards right into his path, soaking him immediately. 

And since his suit heater had been broken ever since he’d collided with a very large and unruly pigeon two weeks earlier… well, suffice to say it was a very cold, wet and wedgie-tastic swing back to his bedroom window fire escape. He’d stripped and collapsed into bed without a second thought, and _definitely_ without even a first one given to setting his alarm.

It had only been the ping of a text from May— _Good morning sweetheart. Just a reminder that the party starts at eight tonight. You better not be a no-show mister_.—that had woken him. Peter read it through red, blurry eyes only to fumble his phone when he saw the time. Hastily he’d thrown on some clothes followed by his still-damp suit, booking it for ESU not thirty seconds later.

Now, with only a cursory glance around he slips through the tiny window of his closet-sized grad student office, stuffing his suit into the bottom of his backpack. He’s just locking the door behind him when he twists around to see a sight for sore eyes.

“Hey handsome,” Gwen greets him with a smile, leaning over to give him a quick peck. Even in a lab coat she’s one of the most beautiful things Peter’s ever seen, and he smiles back, looking around the empty hallway before chasing after her lips for another quick kiss. Gwen obliges but rolls her eyes playfully at him as she pulls back. “You do know being late for work is exactly why you got fired as a grad assistant from Connors’ lab, right?”

Peter sighs. “I know. But Dr. Octavius is a lot more lax with his rules–”

“When it’s _you_ he is, anyway. I swear sometimes it’s like he knows the truth, it’s–”

“–and today is just observation, anyway. It’s not like I’m missing much.”

Gwen rolls her eyes again, but her gaze is affectionate when she replies, “Good thing that’s not what you said to my dad when you were two hours late to dinner last week. _I_ know you were just saving kids from a bus crash, but it’s not like I could tell _him_ that.”

“Yeah, that admittedly wasn’t the best first impression,” he admits with a grimace, only to give her a big, pleading smile. “You forgive me though, right? Even if he probably won’t ever approve?”

Gwen laughs, looking around to make sure it's just the two of them before leaning in until their lips are just a few inches apart. “What can I say? I’m a sucker for a little unpredictability, Spidey. Adds some spice to our relationship, if you know what I mean.”

“I’m not sure I do. You might have to show me,” Peter replies, leaning in for a longer kiss before Gwen pulls away once more. 

“Alright handsome, I need to get back to Connors and _you_ need to go apologize to Octavius.”

“If I have to,” he says dramatically, pretending to look put out only to get a gentle swat on the arm from Gwen before she continues down the hall in the opposite direction from him. 

Before Peter can turn away she twists on her heels. “Oh, the engagement party you wanted me to come to is tonight, right? For your high school friend?”

“Yup, starts at eight, over at his parent’s apartment in Brooklyn,” Peter says, sending a silent _thanks_ to May for the earlier reminder. “I can’t wait for you to meet Ned, Gwennie. He’s gonna love you.”

Gwen grins, soft tones of red blushing in her cheeks in the exact way that always makes Peter’s heart flutter. “I can’t wait to meet him. All your friends, really.”

“Harry–”

“Doesn’t count, since he’s a mutual friend and has in fact been _my_ friend longer,” Gwen says, crossing her arms. “Don’t even try to argue that one, Parker. You’ll lose.”

Peter does a mock salute. “Yes, ma’am.”

Gwen gives him A Look, only for it to fall back into fondness before she turns back around and continues on her way, Peter watching her go until she disappears through the double doors that open into Connor’s lab. 

As he hastily makes his way to Otto’s workspace, Peter finds himself wondering if it’s possible to already be in love after only three months of dating—smiling to himself when he realizes he has all the time in the world with Gwen to figure it out. 

* * *

Peter lands down in the alley near his apartment, quickly changing out of his suit and stuffing it into his backpack before taking the stairs up to the eighth floor. Just as he’d known from hearing his heartbeat outside, Harry is both home and awake, and currently making one of his mystery pasta monstrosities in the kitchen. 

Peter had nearly said no when Harry had proposed living together after college. After all, he’d made a point ever since they met during undergrad at ESU of making sure Harry—the son of the man who was responsible for Peter’s powers, and who would probably love nothing more than to study them if he had a chance—stayed in the dark about his secret identity. Sharing a cramped two-bedroom with that same person certainly didn’t seem like the smartest way to manage that. 

But to his surprise it had actually worked out very well. For one, Harry wasn’t often around. He spent just as many nights at Oscorp Tower either working late or keeping an eye on Norman—who for the last year or so had been suffering from an undisclosed illness that Harry never seemed keen to discuss—as he did at the flat. And for another, it had been a long time since Peter had had to hide superficial injuries from those he lived with, instead going to May and Happy’s and using their extensive first aid kit, or—if it was bad enough—the SI tower medbay, where depending on the severity either Tony, Bruce or Helen could help him out. 

If Harry ever noticed the random bruises or cuts that seemed to heal overnight, he never said anything, and Peter really didn’t think he did notice—too caught up in his own life’s worries to wonder who in the world had decided to beat up Peter that week. It was a mark of just how good of friends they were that Peter knew without doubt that Harry’s inattention said nothing about how much he cared. He just had a lot on his plate ever since they graduated, such as more or less running a giant corporation in his ill father’s stead. You know, the usual stuff people in their mid-twenties typically dealt with, same as secretly being a superhero. Obviously.

Tonight, Harry is still in his tie and suit, albeit looking disheveled when Peter walks in, setting down his backpack. “Smells good,” he fibs by way of greeting.

“Don’t lie to me, Pete. It smells like death and you know it,” Harry replies with a sigh, trying to stir the pot of pasta only for the cheap wooden spoon handle to break. He sighs again. “I think I overcooked the cheese sauce. It’s all congealed and–and _clumpy.”_

Peter glances in his designated cupboard. “I have… a can of black beans and a half-empty expired box of rice, if you want to split that instead?”

Harry makes a face, shaking his head. 

“Guess it’s more takeout again,” he says forlornly as he sets down the pot in the sink before taking a swig from an open beer bottle on the counter and turning around to face Peter. “How’s it going? Feel like I haven’t seen you in weeks, man.”

“Yeah,” Peter agrees, going to the fridge and pulling out a can of Coke, chugging half of it down in one go. “Work and class, you know how it is.”

“Just work and class?” Harry says lightly, raising an eyebrow teasingly as he takes another sip.

Peter rolls his eyes, sitting down at the kitchen table. “And yes, spending time with Gwen. She’s actually going to meet Ned tonight.”

“The one who went to MIT, right? Lives in Portland now?”

“Seattle,” Peter corrects. “His engagement party starts at eight. He’s marrying another old friend who moved out west in high school, Liz. They reconnected on some dating app—uh, Bauble? Dimple?”

“Bumble probably, and that’s cool,” Harry says absentmindedly, scrolling through his phone—no doubt trying to decide where to order from. “I take it you don’t want me to get you anything then?”

“Nah, his mom usually makes enough to feed a small army for any special occasion, but she probably went all out for tonight,” Peter explains. “Ned said she’s over the moon that he’s tying the knot so young, and to the smartest girl from high school at that. The two of them have always been really close.”

He glances up just in time to see Harry’s face fall before he pulls it back into neutral, Peter himself wincing internally at his poor choice of words.

May had been the closest thing Harry had to a mother the last few years, recognizing from their very first meeting that the younger Osborn—whose mother had died at about the same age Peter had lost his own parents—was starved for maternal or even _parental_ affection, Norman not exactly known for being Father of the Year.

Hell, besides Peter, May and Gwen—who had been Harry’s friend since they were kids—Peter didn’t think Harry had anyone left in his life he truly believed he could rely on. Peter couldn’t help but feel partially responsible for that too, knowing he’d deliberately kept his friend in the dark about Peter’s own extensive superhero family, all in an effort to keep his secret. Most of the time Peter could justify it, but the longer they knew one another the harder it became to do so, and especially since Harry had never once been anything but loyal and honest with Peter.

Perhaps that was why he didn’t hesitate when he spoke up and said, “You should come with.”

Harry looked up from his phone, a puzzled expression replacing the exhaustion for a moment and instantly making him look years younger. “To the party? I would think it’s invite-only, isn’t it?”

Peter shrugs. “Like I said, there will be plenty of food, and anyway, the Leeds are super welcoming. No joke, I’m more worried about Ned’s grandmother squeezing you to death more than anything else _._ She gives tighter hugs than even May.”

Harry chuckles, lip curling up. But he still sounds unsure when he says, “I don’t know, Pete. I don’t want to accidentally crash it. The night’s supposed to be about Ned and his fiancee.”

“You won’t be crashing anything, man. I promise,” Peter implores. “Plus it might make Gwen feel more comfortable, knowing someone else besides me and May.” He lets his voice turn playfully pleading when he adds, “You don’t want to let Gwennie down, do you Har?”

Peter knows he’s got him when Harry huffs out a snort. “Alright, you can stop with the begging. I’ll go.”

“Awesome,” Peter replies with a triumphant smile. As Harry leaves the room to go change, Peter pulls out his phone, about to send Gwen a text only to see one already on his screen. _Something came up at work. Meet you at the party?_

Peter smiles as he replies. _H is coming now. We can meet up with you beforehand?_

The reply comes back not a minute later. _Good. He needs to work on being less of a hermit._ Then a second one: _I’ll be okay. Promise._

Peter frowns, considering asking again, even as he knows Gwen will just say no. She appreciated his protectiveness but had never fully embraced it, something he understood as much as he struggled with it.

With a fond sigh he finally writes back, _Okay. See you there._

The reply is nearly instantaneous. _See ya handsome._

* * *

“Oh Peter, it’s so good to see you. And you brought a guest!”

Ned’s grandmother pulls him in for a fierce hug just as soon as she opens the door wide, Peter letting out a small _oof_ even as he returns it with a fond laugh, hiking his backpack with his suit inside—a constant accessory—further up his shoulder before leaning back. “ _Lola,_ this is Harry Osborn.”

“Harry, so nice to meet you,” Ned’s grandmother greets, going in for another embrace. Harry looks surprised and then slightly pained as he locks eyes with Peter over her shoulder, Peter just giving him a _what’d I tell you?_ look in response.

After they pull away she leans into Peter’s ear, whispering, “I could have sworn your aunt said you were bringing a blond woman as your date? But I must say, he is very handsome.”

Peter laughs, blushing. “Harry’s just my friend, _lola._ My girlfriend Gwen is coming too, she’s on her way now.”

“Oh, lovely!” the woman exclaims, linking Harry’s arm with hers. “Come with me, young man, and I’ll introduce you to the buffet spread. The _lumpia_ in particular is delicious, and not just because it’s my own recipe. Also Osborn, Peter said? Any relation to Victor Osborn? He owns my favorite hair salon over in Williamsburg…”

With a slightly pleading but mostly amused look over his shoulder at Pete, Harry is swept away, Peter snorting to himself again right as he hears his name called from somewhere in the crowd. He turns around just in time to get gathered into another giant hug. 

“Peter!” Ned says into his shoulder, clapping his back before pulling away. “You made it!”

“Hey Ned. It’s really good to see you, man,” Peter says with a chuckle. Looking around he spots Liz, May and someone else with their back to him he doesn’t immediately recognize visiting in a corner, Liz giving him a small nod in greeting when he catches her eye. Turning back to Ned he says, “Congratulations on your engagement. You must be so excited.”

“Thanks, Peter. I still can’t believe she said yes, y’know?” Ned says, smiling. 

“I can,” Peter responds sincerely, Ned grinning all the wider. Before he can go on, a hand claps his shoulder. 

“Well if it ain’t Peter Parker. Long time, no see, dude.”

Peter turns around, eyes going wide in surprise. Flash Thompson stands before him, looking a bit older and a _lot_ more muscular than he had the last time they’d seen each other at Ned’s graduation party years earlier. The pair had both gone to MIT, growing closer and even sharing a dorm room as juniors. The few times Peter had seen him since high school he’d also been friendlier, time and age or perhaps simply getting away from his very demanding yet distant parents putting an end to his old insecurities. Last Peter had heard, he’d joined the military after graduating college and was serving overseas.

“Flash? But I thought you were still stationed in–”

“Honorable discharge for medical reasons,” Flash says with a patient smile only to glance down, Peter following his line of sight and seeing the cane he’s leaning on. “Shattered my legs and pelvis saving a buddy of mine during an enemy skirmish. Army set me free not long after.”

“Oh wow,” Peter says, turning solemn. “I’m sorry, Flash.”

“Don’t be,” Flash replies honestly. “I’m not. Don’t get many chances to save someone’s life Spider-Man style, right? Plus now I’m back home and—because of Colonel Rhodes—even got a job with your old boss.”

Peter’s brow furrows. “Colonel Rhodes, as in War Machine? And—old boss?”

“Tony Stark,” Flash says with a grin. “I work in SI’s Advanced Prosthetics Department now. After my discharge I applied for a program the Colonel formed with Stark for qualifying disabled vets to get jobs there. I guess between my own injury and my engineering degree, Stark figured I was a good fit.” He leans in conspiratorially. “I gotta be honest, Iron Man loses a _lot_ of his cool factor when he shows up to the lab in a robe and slippers, grumbling about needing coffee and pulling glitter barrettes out of his hair.”

Peter laughs only to wince inwardly at the memory of just what Morgan—who’d been on a hairstyling kick ever since Happy had shown her how to use curlers—had done to _his_ hair the month before. It’d taken a week to wash out all the blue dye. 

The conversation moves on, turning to Ned and Liz’s fall wedding plans when Peter catches Harry quickly winding his way through the crowd, heading for the door. He looks ill—face pale and drawn—and so Peter isn’t surprised when he catches his friend’s eye only to get a mouthed _not feeling well_ in response before he disappears out the door without so much as a goodbye.

Peter considers going after him for a moment—just to make sure he’s okay—before letting it go. Harry knows how to look after himself.

* * *

The party continues, Peter visiting more with Flash and Ned until Ned bows out to continue his circuit of the room while Flash heads for the buffet. It’s then Peter’s turn to be swept up himself by Ned’s grandmother, having soon caught up with most of the extended Leeds family, many of whom he had come to know over various holidays growing up. About an hour in Peter steals a chance to pull out his phone, brow creasing with worry when he sees no new messages. _How far are you?_ he texts Gwen, slipping it back into his pocket just as a familiar hand gently squeezes his arm.

“Hey sweetheart, look at you showing up on time _and_ even managing to get Harry to pop in too,” May says with a smile, then seeing the frown on Peter’s face, “What’s wrong?”

“It’s nothing, probably. I just haven’t heard from Gwen in hours,” Peter replies into her ear. “It’s not like her to not answer, especially when we have plans.”

“I’m sure she’ll be here soon,” May says comfortingly before going on her tip-toes, looking over the group. “In the meantime, I was just visiting with—oh darn, I think maybe she already left–”

Peter’s phone starts to buzz in his pocket, attention taken off May as he hurriedly pulls it out—eyebrow raising with curiosity when he sees the name on the screen.

“Gwen?” May asks.

“Nah, Tony,” Peter replies, then answering. Loudly he greets, “Hey Tony, I’m at a party, hold on a sec.”

He looks around for a good place to talk, only for May to grab his arm and point at the balcony. With a nod of thanks Peter heads over, sliding the door open and poking his head out to make sure it’s empty. He steps through and closes the door behind him, the loud din of the party immediately muted as he brings the phone back up to his ear.

“What’s up old man? Look, I know I said I’d stop by last week to get my heater fixed but–”

_“Peter.”_

The grave tone in Tony’s voice stops Peter in his tracks, brain immediately going into Spider-Man Serious Mode as he stills. “Tony? What’s wrong? Is it Morgan or Pepper? What’s–”

 _“No, no, everyone’s fine here,”_ Tony tells him, though he sounds no less nervous. _“But listen, have you caught the local news at all the last hour?”_

Peter shakes his head. “No, I’m at Ned’s engagement party. Why?”

 _“There was an attack tonight at the Brooklyn Bridge. Some new villain, flies around on a hoverboard, calls himself the Goblin,”_ Tony says. _“Richards asked me to take a look at the traffic camera footage along with anything else I could find, see if I couldn’t figure out where this guy is getting his weapons tech.”_

Peter blinks, confused. “Uh, okay? You do consulting for the Four all the time. So what’s the big–”

 _“Just listen,”_ Tony snaps, Peter’s jaw shutting tight. _“Whoever this bastard is, he planned this. Used a bunch of small handheld bombs to cause chaos, then to herd the crowd over to one side, only to set off a large rig of dynamite underneath the bridge. There are definitely casualties, maybe dozens.”_

Guilt wells up Peter’s throat at the thought of so many dead, as it did every time he found out he had failed yet again to keep his city safe. It didn’t matter how often May or Tony or Johnny reminded him he wasn’t at fault, that he was allowed to have a life—it never got easier. But then another realization dawns on him, mouth going dry as he asks, “Why did you call to tell me this, Tony? Why–”

_“There was someone on the footage, a civilian who got caught in the explosion. Now, I haven’t been able to figure out if—where she is just yet. But, I just thought you…”_

Tony trails off just as Peter feels his heart stutter, whole body going numb. “Who?”

Silence.

“Tony, tell me now right the _hell_ now or I swear to–”

 _“Gwen,”_ Tony breathes out. _“I had FRIDAY confirm too. It—it was Gwen, Pete.”_

Peter doesn’t even think, just ends the call without another word. There’s a weird ringing in his ears, and distantly he’s aware of the sound of tens of voices, only a rectangle of glass and a thin curtain separating him from the happy party-goers. But any concern about just disappearing off the balcony is nonexistent, his brain filling only with _Gwen Gwen Gwen_ as he leaps over the railing and onto the brick siding, climbing up to the roof of the apartment building, not even looking around as he pulls out his suit and changes.

Then he’s in the air, swinging toward the bridge, fingers barely grasping one web before he slings out another, frantic in his flight. He swings and swings and uses the mask to call Gwen once, twice, three times, all with no answer.

But she couldn’t be dead, couldn’t even be hurt, Peter telling himself over and over that it’s not _possible,_ can’t be, that Tony must have made a mistake even as he knows Tony would never have called him if he wasn’t certain, would never risk scaring Peter so badly if he didn’t _know._

Yet still Peter denies it, even as he knows Gwen would have passed that way if she’d chosen to walk the last leg, would have chosen the breeze across the river over taking the subway with its stale, hot air. 

It made sense, it made too much sense, and Peter’s mind is a haze of worry and concern and helplessness.

But no, he tells himself. Gwen would be alright. She had to be. She’d promised, she’d _promised._

Even as he hears the ambulances, smells the smoke still wafting in the air, sees the lights of dozens of police cars red and blue and reflecting off building facades, Peter tells himself that Gwen is tough, tougher than almost anyone Peter knows. She’d be okay, she’d be fine, she’d be–

The bridge is a mess, a large chunk entirely gone close to the Brooklyn edge. Helicopters with searchlights are overhead, NYPD boats in the water, cops of every rank are around along the shore.

Peter lands on the pavement in the middle of it all, looking around desperately for any sign of the familiar teal-green of Gwen’s coat. He feels dozens of eyes on him, and pretends he doesn’t see judgement there, no doubt wondering where he’d been an hour before. But he has no time to care about any of that right now, not when–

“Gwen? Oh god, _no.”_

The words were a whisper, spoken out of sight, but Peter’s hearing had picked them up regardless, quickly racing in the direction of the growing pleas, giving voice to the same name that Peter had been reciting in his head like a mantra, a prayer.

“Gwen! Gwen, sweetheart? No, god, no!”

Body bags, rows and rows of body bags along the shore of the river, and Peter’s heart thuds against his ribs hard enough to crack bone, lungs heaving. Some are full and closed, some are still empty, but the rows go on, ready to be picked up and taken to the morgue as soon as the trucks arrive. 

And there, leaning over one that is zipped up but for the torso, is Captain Stacy. 

George Stacy, who clutches at the still, blue face of his daughter.

Everything comes rushing at him at once, Peter certain in that moment that he is falling off a skyscraper even if his feet remain planted on the ground, somehow keeping him upright.

He shakes his head, denying the sight before him. It’s unreal, can’t be true, twenty-four year-olds don’t die like this. Gwen—brave and resourceful and tenacious Gwen, who could shift the continents of Peter’s soul with nothing but a _look_ —doesn’t die like this.

But his eyes betray him, reality forcing his hand. Peter stands there, frozen as he watches Gwen’s father’s begging turn to shouts, hands moving from cheeks and damp hair to the shoulders and waist, lifting his only daughter to lay in his arms, the other cops around looking away sympathetically in a paltry attempt at offering their captain some measure of privacy.

Peter doesn’t look away. Instead he waits for the trembling of eyelashes, the gasp of a breath, the signs of life—a life he loves more than his own, would have given his own for if only he’d known to. Yet still Gwen doesn’t stir, not for her father, and not for Peter. 

She couldn’t be gone, Peter thinks numbly. They needed her. She’s right _here,_ with the two people most determined to protect her. Didn't she see they needed her? But no, Gwen didn’t see. 

Gwen didn’t see, Peter finally accepts, because Gwen was dead.

It's a bullet to the gut, a sucker punch to the face, a snapped neck as the rope pulls taut, and Peter takes an involuntary step back, nearly tripping over his own feet. The movement is enough to finally capture Captain Stacy’s attention, the man looking up in stunned surprise only for his expression to cloud over with hopeless fury.

“Where were you?” Captain Stacy snarls in a low tone. Before Peter can so much as open his mouth he looks back down at Gwen, mumbling, “Who the fuck cares? It doesn’t change anything. Doesn’t change that you're dead, that my sweet, kind Gwendolyne is–”

He cuts himself off with a sob, clutching his daughter’s body— _Gwen’s body_ —closer.

Peter doesn’t recognize his own voice as he shakily responds, “Please, sir, I–”

“I want him _dead,_ do you understand me, Spider-Man?” Gwen’s father snarls as he lifts his head back to Peter, gaze vicious and uncompromising. “If you care at all about what happened here, you and the rest of the vigilantes, you’ll make sure he pays. You’ll make sure the asshole—the cold-blooded _murderer_ —responsible for this pays.”

Peter shakes his head dumbly. “I, I don’t–”

“Promise me,” Captain Stacy pleads, then with a roar, “Promise me!”

_I’ll be okay. Promise._

“I promise,” Peter breathes out, more than his lungs deflating at the words.

With a final nod Captain Stacy turns back to his daughter, his child. His broken heart lies bleeding for all the world to see as he buries his face in her golden hair.

Peter does something then he’s only done once before, in the face of yet another person he loved lying dead on wet pavement. That had also been his fault then, too.

With one last look at the face of the girl he loves, the girl he’d let down, had failed beyond comprehension, beyond forgetting, beyond forgiveness—Peter leaves.

But not before vowing once more that justice will be done.

If it's the last thing Peter ever does, the Goblin will die.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are held close to the heart like the cherished treasures they are. Come hang out with me on [tumblr](https://blondsak.tumblr.com).


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